Tell Your Powerful Story—Inspire Your Readers

You have a powerful story that needs to be told. Tell it so it captivates your readers.

Does it contain names and details you don’t want to reveal in order to protect the innocent?

Three key principles to maintain the integrity of your story and keep your sources anonymous.

My first book, A Brother Betrayed, addresses the issue of domestic violence. In addition to scenes that are figments of my imagination, I have fictionalized experiences others have shared with me over the years. Because we live in an abusive world that openly mistreats women and children, as well as seniors, I believe these victims deserve a voice. Their stories need to be told, but how does one go about doing that without compromising the anonymity of anyone who may inspire a scene or story?

These are the steps I followed in writing A Brother Betrayed.

Consider how it may impact others.

1. Avoid legal ramifications by disguising the story. Violating the rights of others can send a writer to court if a “role model” for a character feels exposed or otherwise compromised. No matter how the story is presented, always protect the innocent. Perhaps it is your own story you want to tell. Again, protect the innocent—you. If you put it into a fictional setting, follow the suggestions below. If you’re writing a biography or exposé, it’s wise to check with an attorney prior to publication to avoid ending up in court.

2. If you’ve chosen a fictional setting, change enough details (appearance, location, age, race, ethnic background, etc.) so even those who know the victim (or the perpetrator) cannot identify that person. Many people are imprisoned by the chains of current or past abuse. Perhaps your book, your story, will give them the knowledge, the courage, the hope that they can escape their present situations or break free from the fetters of the past that hold them hostage.

3. Maintain a powerful voice. A writer’s voice includes style, content, and word choice, among other qualities. Just as each singer exhibits a unique sound, personalized phrasing, song choices, and so forth, writers have ways of expressing themselves that identify their works for many readers, even if the name is absent. Voice, however, doesn’t stop with the author. Every main character and most minor characters in a story also have distinct voices. Dialogue is a great place to individualize characters. Habits are another. For instance:

Does a character always drink a glass of warm milk at bedtime? How is this relevant to the story?

Does he swear under his breath?

Is she vocal about her favorite foods or the people she hates?

What traits does each character reveal that contribute to the progression of the story?

Which characters dominate the story?

Which ones are weak?

Who are the power players?

Every scene, every character plays a part in moving the story forward. Stay focused. Disconnected detours and digressions can dilute powerful scenes, cause the reader to lose interest, and may even obscure the point of the story.

What is the point of the story?

1. Where is your story going? Do you want to help readers identify specific behaviors, such as abuse or narcissism or infidelity? Do you want to give them hope? A hand up? Show them the way out? Is your purpose to simply entertain, or do you want to write a story that may touch your readers’ lives? Knowing the intent of your story creates a path to accomplishing your purpose. That intent, or story map, provides the playing field for your characters, who run with it toward your conclusion.

Do you listen to your characters? Why do that? They may show you a different route—their route—to a destination you did not expect. In A Brother Betrayed I anticipated the way the story would end before the writing began. The antagonist would get his just reward in a specific manner, and that was that. While he did reap what he sowed, he reaped it his way, not mine. The story took a somewhat different path than I had originally imagined because his comeuppance needed to be a natural outgrowth of his behavior throughout the story. This is why you need to know your characters as well as you know yourself, perhaps even better. One of the most effective ways to do this is to create detailed character sketches for the main players. Such sketches should minimally be comprised of the following:

Parents, grandparents, siblings, children, friends, likes and dislikes, favorite foods, recreation, education, work/job, pet peeves, ethnic background, etc. You may not need all that information for your story, but the knowledge will help you keep each character true to him- or herself throughout the book.

Personality traits such as selfishness, generosity, short-tempers, good listeners, helpfulness, belligerence, neighborliness, behavioral quirks, etc. Similar sketches are also good for minor characters, but they need not be as detailed. Once you do these things and put your characters in a location or situation, you can let them show you how they respond.

If you’ve fleshed out your characters effectively, all you need to do is type. They will take you (and ultimately your readers) on their journey to their (your) story’s conclusion.

One piece of advice: Be ready and willing to rein your characters in if they venture too far afield. Allowing them to tell their story does not include giving them the right to change the purpose of your book or the uniqueness of your style. A good editor can guide you if they go overboard.

The key is balance, and that comes with experience. Embrace the learning process. You, your characters, and your stories will all benefit.

2. What is the sequence of your story? Stories can be told sequentially, in retrospect, with flashbacks, through dreams and internal dialogue—the possibilities are numerous. The trick lies in making sure the reader always knows what’s going on and where in the stream of time a scene falls. The challenge in A Brother Betrayedcame in the form of setting the stage for upcoming events, introducing the protagonist, showing the relationship between her and her deceased husband, addressing the depth of her loss, and relating her emotional state at the story’s outset. After a variety of beginnings, I chose the following scene to open the book. The order of events following the the first chapter are typically sequential with occasional flashbacks, surfacing memories, and internal dialogue. Note that the opening scene starts out in the present—just a few weeks after the death of Katherine’s husband—but the short dream sequence takes her back to the beginning of their relationship and creates the foundation on which the story is built. When she’s jolted awake by the clock radio, she’s hit with the reality that she has no idea how to go on without him.

Here’s how it begins:

Sleep came fitfully in the wee hours of the morning. Wandering in and out of wakefulness, Katherine tossed and turned until blurred images began to emerge in her mind. The scene sharpened. Calmness settled over her as the dream took shape.

Smiling, she stepped from her car into the crisp fall morning. Briny air wafting off Puget Sound mingled with enticing aromas from Pike Place Market and welcomed her to her favorite spot in downtown Seattle. Drawn to the music midway down the long aisle flanked on both sides by vendor stands, she stopped to listen to a singer who had come to perform for market patrons. “He’s quite good, isn’t he?” a voice behind her said in a loud whisper near her ear when the song ended.
Startled out of the trance into which the music had lulled her, she whirled around to stare into the clearest blue eyes she had ever seen.
“Please be quiet.” She turned back to the singer.
The musician adjusted one of the guitar strings before strumming the introduction to “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” His powerful tenor voice lent an ethereal poignancy to the Simon and Garfunkel ballad.
Another whisper annoyed her. “He has a great voice.”
“Shhhhhhh!”
The last note ended. She applauded along with the rest of the small crowd. The group dispersed after tossing coins and paper money into the open guitar case.
“He’s quite extraordinary.” Blue Eyes hadn’t left.
“If you’re talking to me again, yes, he is. Now, I have shopping to do.” She didn’t turn to look at him.
“Did you like the song?”
“Excuse me?” Unsmiling, she faced him.
“I want to talk to you—about the singer.” She didn’t respond.
“He had my full attention when he sang one of my all-time favorites.”
Surprised that they loved the same music, she allowed his disarming smile to soften her response. “You’re pushing.”
“I’m Edmund Kent Kohler, apprentice pressman at a Seattle print shop.” He extended his hand.
Amused at the formality of his words and slight bow at the end of them, she returned his smile and reached out to shake it. “Katherine Margaret Ames, University of Washington senior who hopes to earn a degree in marketing and management in the spring.”
“Very nice to meet you, Katherine Margaret Ames of the University of Washington. Will you join me for a latte at a coffee shop in this establishment?”
“It’s not my habit to drink with strangers.”
“I’m not a stranger.” The captivating smile came her way again. “I’m Edmund Kohler, apprentice pressman at—”
“A local print shop,” she finished. “Latte it is, Apprentice Edmund Kohler. I don’t have a lot of time. This afternoon is dedicated to studying.”
After lingering longer over coffee than she had intended, they meandered through a nearby art gallery. She stopped and stared at a painting of the old West. A lone Indian on a pony looked down from a high vantage point into a large valley. Moving toward the left, a herd of bison traveled the valley’s width below the sentinel’s perch. A breathtaking mountain range rose in the distance. She marveled at the artist’s ability to depict the magnificence of the great beasts and the dignity of the rider intent on their movement. Then she saw the discreet signature in the lower left corner. B. Kohler.
“A relative of yours?”
“My mother.”
“She’s very good. Has she done many paintings?”
“Five or six. I can’t find the others, so I’m guessing she sold them. This is the last one. She died a few years ago.”
“I’m so sorry. You must miss her.”
“Yes.” He blinked and looked up at the clock on the wall above them. “My brother is expecting me to take him to lunch.” Edmund hesitated. “Will I see you again?”
“I’m here almost every Saturday morning.”
“In that case I’ll be here, too.” He started to walk away, then turned back to her. “My friends call me Ed.”
“Mine call me Kate.”
“See you on Saturday, Kate.”
The images blurred and disappeared.

She woke to the second verse of Simon and Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” Her clock radio, set on the golden oldies station her husband always listened to, had turned on. Pulled to her feet by the lilting melody, she moved around the room in a graceful dance, her arms outstretched toward a partner who wasn’t there. Tears trickled down her cheeks.
“I miss you, Ed. How will I ever get along without you?”
The last refrain began. She wrapped her arms around herself.
“This was our song, the one that brought us together. I’ve never danced to it with anyone else.”
The music faded. Her steps slowed, then stopped. “Who will I dance with now?”

3. Research. So your book’s fiction. You get to avoid all that time-consuming research, right? Uh, no. Stories may be fictional, but they should be realistic. What occurs must be possible in the novel’s era/setting or at least potentially so. Descriptions of existing locations must be accurate. If, for example, your book contains detailed medical or police procedures in New York City, research those processes in that city—unless, of course, you are from there and an expert in the field. You don’t want to lose potential fans because your scene or information doesn’t ring true. Most readers want to suspend disbelief and imagine what they’re reading could actually be so.

In A Brother Betrayed I have scenes of premature labor and delivery, as well as the care of preemies. To make each scene real, I interviewed an obstetrician and a neonatologist. Their information added hugely to the story’s authenticity.

Some scenes of domestic violence would not be nearly so effective had it not been for the people who, throughout my life, have shared their traumatic experiences with me. Also, a worker from a metropolitan women’s shelter lent a powerful sense of reality to my subplot: she told me only her first name, met me in a public place, and let me know that even most police officers did not know the shelter’s location. Why the secrecy? I was a stranger to her, and she had no idea whether I might be an abuser’s sister, girlfriend, or mother pretending to be an author seeking information that could lead a perpetrator to the victim he was seeking. The dangers of domestic violence and the need to protect its victims suddenly hit home and added authenticity to my story.

The Internet is another go-to place, but it’s wise to check a variety of sources. The World Wide Web isn’t known for its infallible accuracy. Another source may be old newspaper files. Many newspapers have “morgues” that can provide a wealth of information from the past. These are stored on microfiche and can be read (and possibly printed out) on machines at their offices. In addition to news stories, old obituaries can be especially helpful because they are filled with details about the lives and times of the deceased that are seldom included in today’s obits. For example, I learned a lot about my great-great grandfather from his obit when I was doing research for a family history book.

One Last Thought . . .

Hopefully, these suggestions will help you get started on the journey of a lifetime—the road to publication. Anyone who says that writing a book is easy or that you should get off your backside and do something productive has obviously never done it. Creating a cohesive, well-written, compelling story requires hard work, long hours, and emotional endurance. The finished product comes only after much research and seemingly endless days, weeks, months, perhaps even years of writing, rewriting, editing, and rewriting again. But when you hold your finished book in your hand for the first time, you know it was worth all the effort. You may even want to do it again.